Ice clinks in champagne flutes. Voices fade in and out of focus. Music plays quietly in the background. A large symphony of sounds and all I can think about is one thing. Him. He's not thinking about me. He's thinking about the dirty blonde he picked up at the bar last night. He's thinking about how bad the hangover will be tomorrow. He's thinking about his life. His life. The life that I'm not a part of anymore. And that one thought, that one single thought, that's what kills me the most.